Dream a Little Dream
by Wravyn
Summary: Remember the Darla arc? Here's a little twist. A far less broody twist with a little something extra, Wravyn-style. ;)


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**Disclaimer:** Oh give it up.

**Summary: **Angel's been having...kinky dreams...of a certain someone. Bad Angel. _Bad_ Angel!

**Spoilers: **Season 2 onwards. You know the Darla bit.

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**Dream a Little Dream**  
by _Wravyn_  
  
_Stars shining bright above you  
Night breezes seem to whisper I love you  
Birds singing on the sycamore tree  
Dream a little dream of me…  
  
Say nighty-night and kiss me  
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me  
While I'm alone blue as can be  
Dream a little dream of me  
  
Starts raining when I linger on here  
Still craving your kiss  
I'm longing to linger till dawn here  
Just saying this:  
  
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you  
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you  
But in your dreams whatever they be  
Dream a little dream of me..._

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If you squinted just right, the crack on the ceiling looked exactly like the Mona Lisa with a cheesy grin in place of her enigmatic smile. If you looked at the same crack with your left eye closed, it looked more like the old, bearded da Vinci than his famous subject. However if you only closed your _ right_ eye, the old Italian greats became nothing more than a pastrami sandwich looking thing with all the toppings.

Very interesting.  
  
Angel blinked at the imaginary glob of mustard floating in his mind and sighed. He flopped over in bed for the umpteenth time.   
  
This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.  
  
The neon digits on the AM/FM radio alarm clock he'd installed on his bedside table read 3:22. He'd been tossing and turning for roughly four hours.  
  
He reached behind his head and fluffed the pillow almost crossly. That's what insomnia does to ya…gives you an evil case of the grumpies and a mean headache in the morning.  
  
Course, he didn't _ really_ have insomnia…he just…didn't want to fall asleep, that's all. Cause if he did…  
  
…the dreams would come.  
  
He heard psychotic music in his head as accompaniment to the statement and shook it impatiently. The paranoia was threatening to overwhelm him. He'd be seeing the boogieman next.  
  
A shadow flitted across the floor and he lifted his head suspiciously.  
  
There was nothing to be afraid of sleeping; he'd just have to get over it, that's all. He reached for the cinnamon-laden mug of blood on his nightstand (courtesy of Cordelia, of course) and gulped it down nervously.

He didn't even grimace at the funny aftertaste. He was _that_ far gone.  
  
It wasn't that the dreams were _bad_, on the contrary, they were rather…well…but that wasn't the point, the point was that they were distracting…and…not…good? He felt a guilty flush sweep across his cheeks.

What a lie.

They were good.

Very good.  
  
When the dreams first started he'd taken to sleeping longer and longer during the day, oftentimes not even coming out of his room till well past noon. He'd excuse himself from the others around eight _(all the more time to enjoy them, my dear)_. He'd ignore their blatant looks of curiosity, and especially avoided Cordy's penetrating gaze. Sometimes he really felt she could look right into his soul, and, like the naughty little boy who was caught with his hand in the candy jar, he squirmed under the implications he saw in her eyes.  
  
But the dreams were just so…damn…good.  
  
He smiled as he felt a soft, teasing hand run up his thigh…  
  
…then froze. No! It wasn't real…she wasn't real, he told himself again and again, shaking his head free from the haziness that had enveloped it. He looked down at himself to make sure. No hand, but he was embarrassed to see the evidence of his arousal.  
  
Not real, not real, he chanted in his head until it became almost a mantra. Why me? he thought. Wasn't the curse of a soul _ and_ the knowledge of the gravity of his past sins enough of a punishment? Hadn't he been good about fulfilling his mission in life? Why send him this sensual pornography too?  
  
Against his will he felt her hands again, her lips, caressing his skin…oh-so-gently caressing his skin…  
  
_ No!_  
  
Angel jumped and scrambled out of bed. Covers still tangled about his person, he hobbled towards the door of his bedroom, clutching the empty mug to his chest.  
  
Blood. He needed blood. A nice warm drink, and then a cold shower, and he'd be fine.

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_Muahahaha...what evilness abounds! Read on..._  
  



End file.
